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Nina McNally Jun 2020
Can we all just pause for a minute?
Right now in this world, it's crazy and we all
Understand as we're going through this together!
Stop panic buying
And just breathe the fresh air,
Don't worry "this too shall pass." Take
Each day for what it is and Be Kind to one another!
Wrote this back at the end of March (2020) during the middle of the Corona crisis.
Relax, "just coast with me" "it's gonna get better" -Patrick Stump
Tittle from Marshmello
Quarantinistani Apr 2020
I am the audience.
I am the act.

I am the set
atop the stage.

I am the curtain -
of that I am certain.

I am the lead,
I am the follow.

Follow me fellow,
come say hello.

I am the scene
on the stage.

I am the scene
on the screen.

I am the scene
that is not seen.

For I am the scene
behind the scenes.

I am the light.
I shine so bright.

I blind their sight.
Lights out; night, night.

They fear my might -
of that they're right.

It's me they hear,
loud and clear.

It's me they fear
as I draw near.

They thought they could.
They thought they would.

They knew they should.
But now they're shook.

For I am the truth.
And I am come.

I am set free.
Now lies must flee.

Out, out the doubt.
Their lies, stamped out.

They scream, they shout.
They cry, they pout.

They beg, they plead.
Their hearts, they bleed.

I pay no heed.
Truth is my creed.

True is the need.
Wage war on greed.

I am the thief.
From me, I stole.

Mind, body,
spirit, soul.

I am the tyrant;
I am oppressed.

The time is now,
I must revolt.

I must Jihad,
I must Crusade.

No time to wast.
I must make haste!

Have you no eyes?
Do you not see?

It's me I fight!
Day and night!

I am the pen,
I am the sword.

I am the speech,
I am the word.

I am the battle,
I am the axe.

The time is now,
need you ask?

I am the struggle,
I am the strife.

This is my way,
this is my life.

I am the many,
I am the one.

I am all
         and I am none.
In what ways do you find yourself engaged in battle against your own self?
IPM Nov 2017
A ready mind becomes
a blade,
to shatter my
outlasting shade.
The past is but a mirror,
yet through it
I see clearer,
a wound deep carved
it stays.
In ways, it's never
over,
forever-this crusade.

Renew your vows,
as the wolf howls,
and now your spirit
burns this hide.
Again, again with
reckless pride,
you needn't see,
you're not danger
free.

A ready mind endures
the pain,
it hides away the wounds
are lain.
An eerie call,
some words begin
to fall,
but focus for it's time,
the black crow is perched
a sign.

Embrace the thought
in ways we're free
we fought.
Us differ from
the fool,
no masters here, no slaves
to rule.

My ready mind
is bright,
with need to help
for right.
A shadow in the night
protects,
this lonely wish for just
reflects.
So what if death is mine
alone,
a peacful mind is born
if my example stays
atone.
Hey, that's pretty old.
Charles Ernest Nov 2017
I haven’t read the Koran
So I can’t say if Islam is violent
I’ve read the history
I’ve come to know the crusades
And the passion of Christ
So I feel guilty
When I am asked
To respond to terror
And stay quiet
At the bearded bombers.
My wife is Hindu
She is offended
At the mention of religions
So I choose to be a secularist.
I do to church and pray
For my beloved ones and myself
I don’t say I’m going to church
I try to be as vague as I can
I say I have to commune
With an old friend
Or that I have some bread and wine to purchase
Then everyone is happy.
I envy the bomber his blindness.
This poem is inspired by real and imaginary confrontations. Well, of course, most of them are real.
a few joined the campaign  
and as a body of one
they relentlessly harassed
a specific two  

mob mentality
won the prize of control
the methods they used
so rancid in toll

victory is theirs
yet only for a while

others are marching
with a new drummer's parade
ready willing and able
to oust the sitting crusade
Mozalios Aug 2016
Alas the crusade sparked vendettas reach
Pools of blood shed boiled with fury
As the shiny spear made its final mark
In the name of vengeance, one solemnly swore
Kunal Kar Dec 2015
Through the serendipity of a naive act,
A mere rumour of the bygone tale.
Perceived by a small offense,
Was the story of Riverdale.

A machine of parts and *****,
Built for an arithmetical crusade,
Channeled with high voltage,
The tool for every complex barricade.

For science has toyed with his destiny,
For his life was a written code,
For his face was made of metal alloy,
For his troubles laid on the same road.


For his calculations were neat as heaven,
As his binary numbers were perfectly synch,
Like the sun rising on an early day,
Like the rain falling on the same clay.

But the story took a seismic turn,
His mind was on a number's high,
When like lightning came she,
A thunderstorm from a clear sky
A mermaid out of the blue sea,

She touched his metal face,
For she had seen none of like him.
But that touch created a little spark,
In the metal heart out of chances that slim.

As his codes discharged to form a conscious wave,
For the metal mind felt the aura,
For the metal body moved to dance,
For Riverdale loved that girl,
For she was his fading chance.

But do the humans  understand love?
I doubt they do, for the metal heart,
Was driven out from the lands.
For his story never had a start.

The sin of emotion, the bliss of pain,
For his metal heart rusted in vain.
Over his kingdom of broken dreams,
Neither did she, nor a soul felt his reign.

As his metal body rusted away,
In the aura of an insane world,
Where love is a jewellery reserved,
For this misery has now unfurled,
He died a metal death with a humane heartbreak.
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